


Good on Paper (Picture Perfect)

by rinnwrites



Series: Let Me Go [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, i never know what to tag, referenced canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-17 14:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14191017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinnwrites/pseuds/rinnwrites
Summary: Lately, he’d been getting to know the differences, paying attention to the ways the son didn’t mimic the father.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct follow-up to part 1 of the Someone Will Love You series, so you might want to read that first but you can skip part 2 if Bucky/Howard isn't for you.

After the truth came out about Howard, Bucky found himself allowing Tony’s gravitational pull to drag him in. It was something he’d always felt and resisted, because he felt like it was something wrong...like it wasn’t  _ Tony _ pulling him in, but only the parts of Tony that came from Howard, the parts that were the same. 

Lately, he’d been getting to know the differences, paying attention to the ways the son didn’t mimic the father. 

Tony held more worry in his face, stress creased his brow rather than hunching his shoulders, and stoic as he was, Tony knew how to bare his emotions, to show that he cared. 

Aside from whispered ‘I love you’s and stolen smouldering looks, Howard was always one side of a coin, flippantly casual or unbearably formal. 

Tony could be those things too, but he was also more. It showed in his eyes, his words, and his actions how much he cared for the Avengers. The way he chatted excitedly about some revelation he’d made with Bruce, or painstakingly crafted a new suit for his little spider-mentee, Peter. The creating went beyond the science and technology - which was Howard’s focus - and revolved more around  _ the people _ ; how it affected lives, protected and bettered the ones he cared about. 

He wanted them safe, he wanted them happy, and while he wouldn’t always say it in as many words, he found ways to show it. No one doubted Tony’s devotion, or his reasons.  

Bucky was particularly sure of it these days. Even as a new addition to their rag-tag team, Tony was constantly working on new models for his arm, adding features, enhancing the neural responses, and paying careful attention to his comfort. 

Since their embrace in Bucky’s rooms, he’d taken to inviting Bucky down to the workshop to watch him work, or even help him at times, as Bucky had a rudimentary mechanical knowledge from his time before the war and the small amount of field training he’d been given upon receiving his original prosthesis. 

Once or twice, they’d even pittered around with the car, though that mostly ended in Bucky getting overwhelmed by the memories it dragged to the surface and having to step out to collect himself. 

Tony’d even given him workshop access when he wasn’t there so he could sit in the vehicle in private, but after one evening of bawling his eyes out to the newly recovered memory of his and Howard’s final farewell, Bucky didn’t spend time in there alone anymore. 

Today, he’d spent a good part of his day training with Steve and Nat, putting the newest iteration of his arm to the test. Tony called it 2.0, but it seemed that they were moving in a direction where the arms were interchangeable, each mounting to a permanent bracket that was anchored to his collarbone and shoulder blade. The inventor had asked for an update as soon as it had been tested out properly, so Bucky stepped through the glass doors of the workshop in search of him. 

“So far so good, Tony, I’m covered in sweat and it didn’t even-” He stopped upon finding the room empty. That was peculiar at this time of day and Bucky’s brow furrowed, about to ask FRIDAY what was going on when he noticed a paper with his name teepeed on top of the car’s hood. 

> _ Barnes, found a treasure trove up in my personal storage, come take a look. _

He wasn’t sure what it meant, but FRIDAY quipped some helpful directions, he turned back the way he came to see whatever it was Tony wanted to show him. 

 

*****

 

When he was young and the loss of his parents was fresh, Tony had treasured the possessions his mother had left behind. He’d refused to sell anything from their estate, keeping it as it was when they’d left that last time, so he could go into their room and smell his mother’s perfume, touch the wool of her favorite coat, glimpse his tear stained face in her mirror, and maybe pretend for a moment that she wasn’t gone, not really. 

His father’s things had remained in place too, but also untouched by Tony. He supposed that he’d loved his father deep down, as Howard had also loved him, under the surface, but he’d never felt the desire to revisit his things, even going as far as to have someone else pack them up for him when he finally transported all of his personal belongings here to the Avengers compound. 

He still hadn’t gone through any of it, and after the discovery of Barnes’s letters in the glove box of that car, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe there were other secrets to discover, more personal effects that the man had hidden that could shed a light on the enigma after all these years. 

Tony hadn’t been entirely prepared for what he’d found, but in light of recent revelations, it wasn’t something he could keep to himself, so he’d left a note for Barnes. It seemed only right. 

When footsteps finally echoed in the hallway, Tony had settled on the floor with his back pressed against a stack of boxes, and his voice had gone scratchy and hoarse by the time he called “About time you showed up,” just in time for Barnes to reach the open door. 

“What’s all this?” he asked gruffly, eyes taking in Tony, slumped on the floor, and the dozens of boxes surrounding him. The billionaire’s eyes were ringed with red and he may have sniffled just a bit as Bucky crossed the room, situating himself on the floor next to Tony, leaving a careful space between them that he wished he could fill (as conflicted as he felt about it). “What did you find?” he asked a little bit softer, peering over at the paper in Tony’s hand curiously. 

Tony let the paper in his hand fall to his lap, reaching out to pull one of the boxes closer, the label read ‘ _ Howard Stark, Home Office’ _ . A quick look inside revealed an ornate wooden box within the plain cardboard, filled to the top with letters. 

“More?” Bucky asked quietly, reaching out to gather a few as he spoke, “I didn’t think I’d written him nearly this mu-” he broke off in surprise as he pulled the first letter from it’s blank envelope, the handwriting wasn’t his, but it was so, so familiar, even after all this time. He could never forget Howard’s penmanship, the big messy scrawl, as though he was always in a hurry, though Bucky’s name was always neater, like he’d taken extra care. And there it sat, at the top of a letter he’d never read. 

> _ September 2nd, 1945 _

Bucky blinked at the date on the top of the page, wondering if he’d lost ability to read Howard’s messy writing, but there was no mistaking it, “But this was…” he started quietly.

“After you fell. That’s the day the war finally ended.” Tony supplied, and Bucky looked at him in confusion. 

“Why?” Howard had known - or thought, rather - that Bucky was gone nearly as soon as it happened. Steve had returned with the news, right away, it was literally in history books. 

“I think…” Tony started softly, “...writing to you was his therapy. Look.” He picked up more letters, easing each of them out just enough to show the date, “1947, ‘48, ‘50, ‘53, ‘64, …’70” his voice stuck on that one and Tony set it aside, making a mental note to read it later, before looking up at Bucky “There’s gotta be two or three hundred letters here, from ‘45 to ‘91.”

“He wrote to me...his whole life?” Bucky asked, a mix of awe and incredulity coloring his tone. Howard had held on to Bucky for years after his fall, written to him like a diary, kept him alive in his mind. Bucky shivered, he’d known it was love with Howard. 

He hadn’t known it was quite that strong. 

It rose within him now, though, tears prickling at his eyes, and the dull ache in his chest raging to something sharp that took the breath out of him. His vision darkened and his head spun, Tony’s hand on his shoulder the only thing keeping him from losing his balance to the vertigo. 

“Why are you showing me this?” he cried softly.

A look of shock rested on Tony’s face, he hadn’t expected Bucky to react this way, though he couldn’t really say what he  _ had _ expected. 

“I- They- They’re addressed to you. After the other day I thought you’d want to see them and read what he said.” he babbled, anxious that he’d pushed too hard against Bucky’s fragile mentality. 

Bucky reached out with his metal arm, resting the cool palm on Tony’s thigh as a way of grounding himself. He nodded, taking a few deep breaths and coming back to his right mind, though the wetness in his eyes remained. He didn’t know why it hurt so badly to see a physical manifestation of the words left unsaid between them, maybe it was because these were words from the life Howard had lived without him, but as much as it hurt, he wanted to see them, he wanted to know if his lover had been happy. Maybe that would ease the pain he still carried from waking up in a world without him, from learning that he was the reason the man was gone. 

“I do. I want to read them.” He said, unsure who he was trying to convince. 

Tony nodded, an unsure hand moving to rest on top of the prosthetic on his thigh. 

“But you have to read them too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a bit since I updated, but I kept getting distracted from this chapter by the next chapter? So maybe that one will be faster XD

_ February 3rd, 1945 _

> _...I know that Steve believes what he’s saying. I know the army believes him. But Bucky, I can still feel you. I know you aren’t really gone. I know you’re coming back to me. I  _ _ know.  _

 

_ February 16th, 1945 _

> _...I don’t understand why you’re making me wait like this. The world is moving on, the war is changing, I’m going back to the States to finish...a project, but it kills me to cross that ocean without you. I can’t leave you here...  _

 

_ March 22nd, 1945 _

> _...It’s too much, Buck. The war is too much. Steve is gone, he’s the best thing I ever made, if only because he brought you to me...and he’s gone. These bastards have taken you away from me, taken my will, my happiness, the air in my lungs, and they continue to threaten the country you died for and I can’t stand it. We’ll eviscerate them, Bucky. They’ll regret everything… _

 

_ August 7th, 1945 _

> _ “I am become death, destroyer of worlds.” I bet those words will be famous one day, and I was there to hear them. I thought it might help to be a part of this. I just feel cold. _

 

_ September 2nd, 1945 _

> _ The war is over. It’s finally done and I can hear the celebrations. Everyone is so happy, Bucky...and I feel numb. I thought helping them end it was going to ease some of this pain, but without you...I don’t know how to feel normal anymore, all I have is hurt, and I can’t find the man I was before. Was there ever a me without you?  _

 

_ December 10th, 1945 _

> _ They want me to keep building weapons. It turns out I’m very good at it, and at least working keeps my mind busy. I’m also looking for Steve, and that keeps me occupied too. If my calculations are right he could have survived, the serum could keep him in stasis...if I could just find him. I wish I’d been able to give you the same protection, but you were so strong even without any serum. You wouldn’t give up on Steve, so I won’t either.  _

 

Neither of them could take it for more than a few letters at a time. Bucky made the mistake of trying to read through the whole year after his “death” in one sitting, and it hadn’t turned out well for him.

The early stages of grief were right there in Howard’s words.

The denial hurt so much more with the knowledge that in the end, Howard had been right. Bucky hadn’t been gone, not entirely, and he did come back...just not in the right way, not in time. Not before Howard could slowly drive himself mad with hope, that belief that Bucky would come back to him, and then he transferred that hope to Steve, searching for him in Bucky’s name.

Bucky read the words of his pain, his hurt, and anger, waiting for the numbness to give way to some acceptance, some way of moving on...and a year down the road there was still only heartbreak. He didn’t realize that he was quietly sobbing, the letter shaking in his grip, until a hand rested on his shoulder and through a curtain of dirty hair, he saw Tony crouched in front of him, concern written across his face.

“Hey, hey, deep breaths.” came a soothing murmur as that hand squeezed his shoulder, the other gently prying the letter from him and setting it aside with the others. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there on the floor of Tony’s storage room, pouring over his late lover’s handwriting and berating himself for leaving Howard to such pain, even if it hadn’t been his choice to go.

“Sorry.” he sniffled softly, unsure what exactly he was apologizing for as flesh and metal hands alike wiped the tears from his eyes, doing little to help as they came faster and faster. He was a wreck, but it was strangely cathartic.

Before being released to life with the Avengers, he’d spent a lot of time in therapy, with head shrinks, who asked a million questions, and dredged up as many memories as they could, of the Winter Soldier, and of Bucky Barnes. In all that time, he’d never cried, a tear or two maybe, but he couldn’t remember any of that making him this raw. Bucky hadn’t ever been much of a crier before - that, he could remember - he was too busy taking care of other people to let himself, too concerned with seeming strong, stoic.

And now...well now he  _ was _ strong. He’d spent years being nothing but strong - living a half life with a barrier between himself and those emotions that went hand in hand with humanity. The humanity that had been forced out of him again and again, even as it tried to creep back in.

There was nothing to stop it anymore, and the gentle trickle that came from the memories and the therapy had turned to a tidal wave in the face of these letters, Howards words and his pain radiating through him with a force he couldn’t quite contain. So he let it out, broken sobs wracking his body and his shoulders shaking as the grief coursed through him.

And he cried.

He cried for the excitable man that Howard had been in the 40s. He cried for the pain he’d caused his lover for years after his fall. He cried for the family that only got half of a husband, half of a father, because the man was so caught up on Bucky. He cried for the empty soldier who’d blindly taken the life of the only love he’d ever known.  

Then after a time...it faded. As though the feelings just needed their chance, their moment to be recognized, before they agreed to be relegated to a dull ache in the back of his mind as the shaking stopped and the tears dried.   

He’d nearly forgotten that Tony was there by the time he’d composed himself. But when clear blue eyes finally reacquainted themselves with brown, he found a quiet understanding there. It had been years ago, that fateful December night. It wasn’t as raw for Tony, and maybe not quite the same...but he knew that feeling of loss.

Seeing it there in Tony’s eyes made Bucky wince as he realized for the millionth time  _ ‘I made him feel this. I took his father from him. His mother.’ _

“Stop.” It was quiet, but firm, as though Tony’d read the dark thoughts from his mind, and maybe he had...or maybe in the midst of all that emotion that Bucky struggled to bear, the truth was written on his face, clear as day.

He blinked the thoughts away, shaking his head as if to rid his mind of them, but they clung on. Crippling regret was sticky like that. Maybe Tony could claim it wasn’t his fault, but Bucky hadn’t forgiven himself. He didn’t know if he could.

“Let’s go, Nat’s cooking and she’ll beat you to a pulp if you skip team dinner.” The tone was light, but it was an order, strange to hear from Tony’s mouth, but somehow what he needed. He didn’t want to think about why.

Bucky just nodded. He left the letters in their pile on the floor and slowly made his way to his feet, the ache of them reminding him just how long he’d been sitting there on the floor.

“I’m gonna go clean myself up.” He said quietly, eyes downcast as he moved towards the door.

“And then dinner.” Tony caught his wrist, not ready to let him retreat if he was going to hide away and bottle up his pain. He knew from experience that bonding with the team could be healing. They’d done wonders for Tony.

“And then dinner.” Bucky agreed, meeting Tony’s eyes as though to prove that he meant it.

Apparently that was enough, because with a nod, Tony dropped his hand and shooed him out the door towards the elevator.

 

*****

 

The Avengers had turned out full force for dinner. Gathering once a month to eat together was a favorite tradition since the team had first assembled, and while the faces around the table came and went, the day and place, and food fluctuated, there was nothing that evoked the feeling of  _ family  _ within Tony more than these meals. 

Today it was crowded and noisy around the dining table, Steve and Sam sat with their heads together, having an intense discussion about the merits of Anakin Skywalker, while Clint dutifully delivered silverware to each place setting, dodging the plates Wanda floated through the air with practiced ease. Bruce was in the kitchen stealing tastes of their dinner while Natasha scolded him through a smile, and Vision calmly mediated a debate between Scott and Thor over whether jumbo-sized Ant-Man could win in a fight against a bilgesnipe.

It was more of them than he’d seen in one place in a while and Tony gave himself a moment to take it all in, a grin firmly planted on his face, before settling in at the table amongst them. And if he purposefully settled down with a single seat between himself and Steve...well that was his business.

“Soup’s on, boys...and Wanda.” came Nat’s voice from the doorway as she and Bruce delivered the food to the table and everyone settled down, chattering idly as the food was passed around.

The seat beside him remained empty, and Tony couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering to the doorway every few seconds, even as he filled his own plate and tried to keep an ear on the conversation. It seemed that the bilgesnipe discussion had drawn the rest of the group in and they were proposing various methods of combat, each trying to one-up the last when Bucky appeared, quiet as a shadow in the doorway, and slinked over to the one empty chair.

He’d cleaned up and changed clothes, but the red rings around his eyes were a dead giveaway that he’d been crying, but he behaved normally, offering a small smile to Steve when the man clapped him on the shoulder.

He busied himself scooping food onto his plate, and it was only when Tony let his eyes leave Bucky’s face that he realized he wasn’t the only one staring. The rest of the group had stopped their chatter to glance around at the newcomer, the conversation lulling for a moment as Bucky pointedly ignored their looks and dug into his dinner.

After a moment, there was an offended screech as Clint hit an unsuspecting Wanda in the forehead with a hunk of bread he’d tossed across the table, she floated a piece back at him, which he caught and took a bite of, grinning, and the tension dissolved, Sam starting back in on another idea for tag-teaming the bilgesnipe while everyone resumed their eating.

Almost subconsciously, Tony slid a foot over to hook around Bucky’s ankle, and after the barest flicker of surprise, a soft smile slid across his face, and Tony could swear that it looked almost grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are meant to be just snippets of the letters that Howard wrote, the actual letters I imagine to be near page long notes.
> 
> I don't love the dinner scene at the end I just wanted to throw a little bit of something that isn't crying into this chapter lmao...hope it isn't too out of place


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna go back and edit this later, but I wanted to get it posted tonight. 
> 
> In the wake of Infinity War.....it's business as usual.

After Bucky’s breakdown, they both stretched the letters over time. Tony read one or two at a time in the evenings, learning early on that he wanted to be alone when something big hit him. He felt like he could share that with Bucky, but the last thing he wanted was his own resurfaced greif to trigger the soldier’s.

Bucky, for his part, spent a lot of time reading in the workshop. Tony wasn’t entirely sure why, but sometimes he’d walk in ready to work and there the man would be, hair pulled back from his face with an elastic and those blue-grey eyes intent on the words in front of him. He didn’t sit in or near the car, but usually on the sofa at one end of the room, or in one of the cushy desk chairs.

And it wasn’t always the letters, either. Sometimes it was other things. Tony had seen him with modern classics, mystery thrillers, (he’d raved about _Gone Girl_ for ages after finishing that one), and the occasional kids comics (there was something about Calvin and Hobbes that just tickled his funny bone and Tony chose not to ruminate on the way those quiet giggles made his heart soar.)

Today it was a letter. They have an unspoken agreement not to ask about them, but each was aware that the other would listen if they wanted to talk about it. They rarely did, but an irritated grumble from Bucky caught Tony’s attention, and then the sound of paper crumpling made him look up in surprise. Bucky was usually so gentle with the letters, caring for them reverently and keeping them pristine.

“What’s wrong?” Tony floated the question tentatively across the quiet room (he’d stopped listening to his loud music all the time to accommodate Bucky’s reading), his hands frozen on the piece of equipment in front of him. He wasn’t sure whether to expect an answer, but met Bucky’s steely gaze when it landed on him.

At the eye contact Bucky’s expression softened a little, but there was a darkness there, an anger. “That _bastard._ ” he spat, only a whisper, but one full of malice, and...that wasn’t what Tony was expecting.

“What?” is all he could manage through his surprise. The letters had brought smiles and tears and everything in between to Bucky’s face, nothing yet had made him _angry_ like this.

Still quietly seething, Bucky crossed the room and went to hand the letter to Tony, stopping halfway to set it in front of him instead. Tony wiped his hands and took the crinkled paper, his heart dropping at the line of letters and numbers at the top.

 

_May 29th, 1970_

 

> _Bucky, I’m a father. He’s so beautiful, and I already know he’ll be better than me. Anthony is his name. Maria chose it, but I think it’s strong. I love him so much that it hurts, and that’s the purest thing I’ve felt since you. I can’t say how often I’ve thought about what things would look like if you’d come home to me. Could we have found a way to live? Things get better every day for people like you and me, would we still be hiding? Would that be better than this? Sometimes I think that this can be happiness, but then I run into the wall - what is happiness when I’ve lost you? It can’t be right for me to feel the ache of missing you after 25 years. It’s been so long but I still see your smile when I close my eyes, I remember your face like I saw it yesterday. Everything is changing, but I can’t move on without some kind of closure. We’re heading out again to look for Steve in a few weeks. If I could just find him, I think I could close that chapter of my life. I think I could make myself accept this new one._

 

Tony was frozen, eyes fixated where black ink marred barely yellowed paper. ‘ _better than me.’ ‘so much that it hurts.’ ‘the purest thing.’_  Thoughts he’d never known his father to have. Those were what truly caught Tony’s attention. The praise he’d never gotten from Howard, the hopes he’d had for him on the day of his birth. And then the letter’s focus went back to Bucky and Tony’s face fell the slightest bit as he read.

“That bastard.” Bucky repeated, more sad than angry this time.

Shoulders slumping, Tony handed the paper back, shaking his head and brushing it off, “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t, but aside from the nice sentiments in the letter, Tony wasn’t surprised. It was no big revelation that Howard had been more focused on finding Steve Rogers than he had been on raising his son. He’d long since come to terms with that fact and while it still hurt, the ache was dulled by time.

If anything, his heart warmed at the thought that it bothered Bucky so much. The concern creased his brow and before he could think about it, Tony’s hand reached out to smooth it, fingers brushing over the wrinkle on Bucky’s face, satisfied to see it relax, a protest dying on Bucky’s lips, before he realized what he was doing and pulled his hand back.

Bucky was frozen, taken aback at the gesture, surprised enough that the lingering anger faded, and then surprised again that Tony could have such a calming effect on him.

It shouldn’t have been such a shock to realize: he’d been seeking Tony out, craving his company, because he made Bucky feel calm. Comforted. Perhaps he was the reason that Bucky was keeping it together at all through this onslaught of feelings that he just didn’t have the capacity for quite yet. Tony kept his head above water.

And Tony...well Tony was amazed at the way Bucky reacted to him. He’d never been much for comforting. Seeing someone else cry made him want to break down in kind, and grief was scary enough when he was trying to understand his own. It was one of the few problems he’d prefer to walk away from.

For some reason he’d engaged in Bucky’s grief instead. He’d reached out, done what he could to help him. And it was incredible how natural it felt. It was as though he instinctively knew what would help, a hand on the shoulder, a few simple words.

He realized that they were never things he’d gotten for himself when he was mourning. There were plenty of condolences, but those were mechanical, obligated from friends of his father’s business partners, investors. More so he felt crushed under the weight of expectations. Each and every person that expressed sorrow for his loss was watching him carefully to see how he’d react, whether he’d crumble. They’d made it all too easy to sweep his emotions under the rug and let them fester there, waiting to haunt him in the middle of the night years and years down the road.  

Bucky didn’t deserve to feel that way. He’d been through enough if the HYDRA files were to be believed. So if it was within Tony’s power to help him grieve, he’d do it. It was the least he could manage after how far they’d come.

In only a short time there was so much between them. Tony alone had gone from indifference to anger, then guilt, confusion, a fragile peace, and now maybe...acceptance?

Perhaps the soldier was still largely a mystery, but there was some level of understanding there. A connection, and maybe it was rooted in that tragic moment where their lives first really intertwined, but since then, they’d embarked on a journey together, they’d chosen to read Howard’s story. Tony was finding reason behind the distant man who failed to be the father he needed, and Bucky was learning how the future he could have had slipped away that day in the alps, he was seeing that, once upon a time, he’d been someone capable of inspiring undying love, something that would be beautiful if not for the suffering it had caused.

It was several long moments later when Bucky realized they were just standing there, gazing into each other’s eyes, and his cheeks flushed, even as the fluttering in his chest became evident.

“I’m, uh, gonna hit the gym.” he muttered awkwardly, scratching absently at the back of his neck as he backed away, turning at the last moment to avoid running into the glass wall just next to the door. _What the hell is wrong with me? That’s Howard’s son._ He reminded himself, as he stepped into the elevator, punching the button for the training floor where he could punch out a little of his confusion.

 

*****

 

Tony stood staring after him long enough for DUM-E to roll over and check on him, claw nearly clipping Tony in the face as he attempted to pat his head in comfort.

“Woah, watch it, kid. Thank you, that’s very kind, now go clean up your mess.” he gestured to a pile of scraps in the corner that DUM-E had been collecting all day, for reasons unclear to Tony.

The bot let out a trill and rolled away as Tony scrubbed his hands over his face, likely rubbing a little bit of grease in, but he didn’t care as he abandoned his project and wandered over to the sofa, sinking down into the warm space that Bucky’d left behind and pulling the box of letters towards him. He wasn’t sure when it had moved down here, but he assumed Bucky had done it. The letters were sorted by date, and there was a slip of red paper marking how far Bucky had read. He was nearly finished, the twenty or so years after Tony’s birth only accounted for about 25 of the letters.

Even though Howard had continued writing to Bucky his whole life, the frequency decreased dramatically, and the later letters seemed to hold the highlights of his successes and failures. Tony personally didn’t care too much about those written after his birth. Words meant little when Howard’s actions had been so cutting - the way he waved his son off, didn’t take an interest in him.

What Tony wanted to read about was the man he’d never known, who he was before, and he’d seen in the letters the way that Howard had started young and idealistic about everything, and become so focused on success and progress, to the point that nothing else mattered. Reading the words helped him put pieces together to understand who the man was, and how his life had changed him.

Now, he picked up the letters that Bucky had read earlier today. They’d been accompanied by a few sad little sighs that Tony hadn’t asked about, but as he scanned the words, he understood the reaction.

 

_November 12th, 1964_

 

> _I told Maria about you today. She said she wasn’t surprised, she could tell that I’m “haunted by something.” I don’t think that “haunting” is how I want to think of you. I want to think of you peaceful, laughing, and telling horribly crass jokes….but you are gone. This is a good match, Maria and me. She’s a good partner. And she doesn’t care about what I am, or what we were. I can work with this. Maybe I can feel less alone._

 

_June 9th, 1968_

 

> _I stood up at the altar yesterday and I didn’t want to think about you, but I did. God, why can’t I leave you in the past, Bucky? Maria became Mrs. Stark and it feels nice to have someone...but not as nice as having you. I love her, I do. Why can’t I let go? What is wrong with me?_

 

It seemed that after he met her in 1957, each of Howard’s letter mentioned Maria in some way, but the ones that stuck with Tony were the ones that shocked him most. She’d _known_ about Bucky. Howard had told her and she’d loved him anyway, and it only made Tony miss her more. She’d been so good, and so kind, event knowing that his heart wasn’t free for the taking, she’d loved Howard.

The other thing that struck him was the confirmation that Howard had loved her too. Tony’d assumed as much, but most children probably would thing that their married parents were in love - the letters thus far had given Tony doubts about that. The kicker, however, was Howard’s acknowledgement that something was wrong with him for holding onto Bucky so long. Of course...in that moment, Tony could see the appeal in loving them both.

Bucky was a steady, strong energy, and even though he rarely showed it, his smile was stunning and his laughter infectious. He cared deeply with a vibrant passion for fairness and justice.

Maria was calm, sweet, and soft. Soothing and bright with a gentle empathy in her words and her actions, she was loving and accepting.

They were incredible people. Howard was lucky to have been loved by them both.

Sitting there on that sofa, Tony couldn’t help a pang of jealousy towards a man long dead.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky does a lot of talking. Like A LOT of talking.

Days later Tony walked into his workshop to find the wooden box sitting on a lesser used workstation, a note on top with just the word,  _ ‘thanks,’  _ in handwriting Tony remembered from that first set of letters he’d found in the car.

Thanks. 

He assumed it meant that Bucky was done reading them, and a part of him feared that it also meant he was done with Tony. The soldier got what he wanted from the billionaire and was prepared to move on. It felt a little like dejavu, a sensation he knew from every person in his life who’d used him for a moment in time then set him aside when they were done. 

Bucky didn’t need him for anything anymore. Suddenly the box, the car, the sofa and stack of books on the table beside it made him uneasy. “FRIDAY, have this car moved back into storage….and this box of letters sent to Sergeant Barnes’s quarters.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Her voice only sounded a little bit judgemental.

 

*****

 

Bucky lay panting on the mat in the gym, squinting into the bright sunlight that filled the room as he tried to understand the physics behind Natasha’s ability to toss him around like a rag doll. She sat a few feet away, grinning, but equally winded. 

“Ready to tap out, Sarge?” came her teasing voice, answered quickly by a short huff of laughter.

“I was ready two rounds ago. I’m an old guy.” he said in a mock-defensive tone. His shoulder was hurting pretty badly, to tell the truth. The new shoulder piece that Tony had designed to graft to his bone was worlds better than the original model, but without the regular cryosleep and, frankly, being brainwashed to ignore the pain, he found that the ache in the muscles snuck up on him, particularly after a hard round of training. 

Natasha just nodded, nursing her own sore wrist, “I’m gonna hit the showers then, grandpa.” She was gone a moment later, and Bucky remained still for a moment, mindlessly counting as the tender flesh at his shoulder throbbed with the beat of his heart, now slowing from his earlier exertion. 

He wasn’t sure how much later it was that he finally got up and headed to his room, intent on taking a shower of his own and hoping the hot water would soothe the soreness around his prosthetic. He was definitely  _ not _ going to spend the time thinking about those worn mechanic’s hands or those two very human very muscled arms that he’d spent the past few weeks admiring from afar. He wasn’t. 

Bucky stopped short at the sight of Howard’s letter box on his desk, no explanation for why it was there, and frowned in confusion. 

Didn’t Tony want to finish the letters? He didn’t ever read them when Bucky was around, but Bucky knew his progress through them had been slower, he couldn’t have been done already. 

He picked the box up, shower forgotten, and headed back out of the room, taking the elevator down to Tony’s workshop. 

Tony’s loud music was what greeted him when he reached the doors. It had been ages since Bucky’d heard the abrasive rock music fill this room, but he made his way inside anyway, happy to see that FRIDAY still slid the door open for him at his approach. 

He dropped the box on the nearest table and watched as Tony jumped in surprise, clearly hearing the noise over the guitar solo he’d been tapping his foot to. Bucky felt bad for startling him, but it passed in a second, especially at the vaguely annoyed look on Tony’s face. 

The music lowered to background noise to accommodate them, which would usually have made Bucky feel better, but it didn’t. Sure, this was Tony’s space, but he’d always felt welcome here, the sensation of feeling out of place was new, and uncomfortable. 

“Yeah, frostbite? Something wrong with the arm?” Tony quipped, barely looking up at Bucky for more than a second. 

“No, its...I just wanted to bring this back.” He gestured down to the box of letters and watched Tony’s lips press into a straight line. 

“They’re not mine. They’re yours. Addressed to you.” 

Bucky blinked, surprised by Tony’s sharp tone. Maybe he had finished the letters. Was this a delayed emergence of anger at Bucky for what he found there? Jealousy that he’d been the one to take up Howard’s attention all through Tony’s childhood?

Maybe Bucky deserved some of that blame, but he hadn’t really expected to have to bear it. Not with how  _ good _ Tony had seemed with everything. 

Not sure how to respond, Bucky glanced around, seeing that the car was gone from where Tony had been working on it on and off, he sighed softly. “The car?”

Tony seemed not to hear for a moment, tinkering with whatever project he had at hand before finally looking up after a long silence. “Back in storage. Wasn’t working out for me.”

His response was curt, borderline angry, and then he softened with a sigh. “I can move it somewhere else if you want to keep that too.”

“I don’t want it.” The words were out before Bucky could even think about them, but he found that they were true. He car was a reminder of an old life. One that was over, and one he was ready to start leaving behind. 

Tony stopped tinkering at that. “Why not? Isn’t that why you’ve been down here?”

And it clicked for Bucky. Tony was upset because he thought this thing was ending. The time they were spending together, the moments they’d been sharing. It meant something to Tony, too.

“Not at all. In fact, I prefer it gone. Not as sentimental now that I know the truth.” He admitted. And it was true, the sweet memories he had in that leather interior felt tarnished in light of what they’d done to Howard after his fall. 

“...and the letters?” Tony asked quietly. The question was loaded, and Bucky sighed. 

“I’m glad I read them. I got the closure Howard never had. I don’t have to wonder about his life, whether he was happy, if he thought of me when I was gone. Now I-...I know.” His lip trembled at that. It hurt to know the truth, it felt awful to be angry with the man his lover had turned into. He hated that Howard hadn’t been happy, not truly, or not entirely, but there wasn’t anything Bucky could do about that. All he could do was close the book, do what Howard couldn’t and move on. “I don’t want them. I don’t need to read them again.”

Tony scoffed, but it felt like a cover-up for something else, a vulnerability Bucky couldn’t quite read. “You don’t want to hold on to him...the man you loved?”

Bucky sagged, eyes closing for a long moment, and then he shook his head. “The man I loved isn’t there in most of those letters, Tony. He turned his back on his family just for the memory of me. I loved him once, I did, with everything in me...but I wish he had just let me go. Holding on turned him into someone else.”

There was a moment of silence, then Tony’s whispered inquiry. “Can you?”

“What?” Bucky heard him, he just wasn’t sure if it had been his imagination, a hallucination.

“Can you let him go? Could you put his memory aside and give yourself a chance with someone else?”

The question sent his heart racing, the sound of it pounding in his ears was almost distracting, and he really hoped that Tony asking it meant what he wanted it to mean.

Bucky swallowed, steadying himself with two hands flat on top of the envelope box. “Tony, I already have,” the words were more certain than he’d expected them to sound, “o-or, I’m trying to, I think.” He looked down at his hands, the sight of the metal hand that Tony had carefully crafted for him hitting home in that moment. 

This man had brought him into his home and treated him to the same level of care and affection he gave to all of his loved ones, and maybe even more, with the way he’d handled the revelation about Howard.

Bucky’s hands both closed into fists and he steeled himself to look up and find Tony’s eyes, “I loved him but I won’t be him. I won’t forsake what’s right here for something that’s gone.”

Something stirred in Tony’s eyes, but his face was still harsh and uncertain. Bucky wondered if he was making a huge mistake, but he pressed on. 

He’d never been one for emotional conversations, but after seeing what keeping it all in had done to the carefree man that he’d loved, he wasn’t going to follow in those footsteps. He knew how he felt and he wouldn’t bottle it up. He didn’t have to, the world would let him say this, and feel this about Tony. 

“God, maybe this is wrong on so many levels but you helped me let him go and now all I can think about is you.”

The words flooded Tony with a lightness, he had never in all of his years felt that kind of relief - he’d been so convinced that history would repeat itself and he’d lose the love of another man he cared about to a ghost, and be powerless to do anything about it. But there Bucky was, talking about something that was  _ right here _ lingering between them. It was probably the most he’d ever heard the soldier speak at one time and it occurred to him that Bucky was putting himself out there, laying it all on the line and all he offered so far was silence. 

“Bucky...” He hesitated. The big spiel, the grand words, they were a Tony Stark trademark most of the time, but he wasn’t used to trying to convey something this important, this personal. He’d always been better at showing than telling, so he found himself walking around his workbench and crossing the room to where Bucky lingered just inside the door. 

“If it’s wrong I don’t want to be right.” Maybe it was a flagging taste of his usual defensive humor, but it was all Tony could manage to say before slipping a hand around the back of Bucky’s neck, rocking up onto his toes and pressing their mouths together in a kiss. 

It didn’t feel wrong. 

It felt perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter evaded me for a while, writing it was a little like herding cats, but I hope it came out alright. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments <3


End file.
